


Tutor

by josafiend



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Ambiguous Age, M/M, Martian, Oral Sex, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:45:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/josafiend/pseuds/josafiend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian is juggling his fledgling racing career with his studies at an English private school, but Professor Webber doesn't care much for circumstances which take the focus off education.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tutor

**Author's Note:**

> Written from a prompt by Arkadias for the Understeers Ficlet Challenge (2)

A sudden, shrill bell rang out, only briefly preceding the sound of stampeding feet as the boys of Brawn Academy broke from the shackles of their desks and headed for fresh air and freedom.  
  
Maths professor Mark Webber cast an eye up towards the ceiling of his basement office, watching as tiny paint flakes broke away and wound their way past the dust motes onto the papers he was grading.  
  
"Animals," he muttered, dusting the debris away and continuing with the last question of the current student's test, which he marked with a firm cross.  
  
He totalled up the correct answers and wrote ‘ _D-, must try harder_ ' in the top corner of the page in red ink, then tossed the paper onto a pile to his left.  
  
Mark glanced back at the paper, his lip curling with irritation at the mere thought of the student it had been completed by; Sebastian Vettel.  
  
Sebastian had arrived six months earlier, transferring from his childhood school in Heppenheim, Germany, so he could continue with his A-Level studies whilst honouring his commitments to international kart racing. His English was excellent and his teachers had given him more than favourable references to gain the place at Brawn Academy, but academically Sebastian could do with a lot of improvement.  
  
Mark reached for the test paper, glancing down the margins which were filled with scruffy boyish handwriting, noting the moments where Sebastian's calculations almost led him to the correct answer, yet somehow veered off on a tangent, giving him a number nowhere close to right with no real explanation of how he got there.  
  
Mark sighed and returned the paper to the pile. He felt like Sebastian was wasting his time, and why should he even try with the boy when his attitude was only marginally more appealing than his capacity for algebra?  
  
He thought back to the previous day and the moment of teeth grinding frustration he'd felt when Sebastian once again used clever manipulation of his classmates to make his professor the butt of yet another joke. He had a quick mind and an answer for everything, which made Mark silently wish that corporal punishment hadn't been removed from schools. A good thrashing with the ruler would soon put him back into his place.  
  
The boy was funny and popular, despite starting so far behind the rest of the year, and had many friends. He was even popular with the teaching staff, Mark once overheard a colleague refer to the young German as a ‘ _sweetheart_ ', which troubled him, because the only words Mark could instantly bring to mind to describe his under-performing pupil were ‘ _smart-mouthed little shit!_ '  
  
Mark threw the last paper onto the stack and reached his arms high over his head in a long stretch, feeling the stiffness in his shoulders from over two hours spent hunched over his desk. Bunching the tests together, he slid them into a folder and then into his satchel, throwing the bag across his back and heading for the door – a journey of only one stride – flicking the light off with a light slap.

  
****

  
Sebastian stared at the textbook in front of him, focussing on the numbers as his mind wracked itself desperately to make sense of them.  
  
He looked up at the chalkboard, perhaps for some inspiration, but Frau Steinhoff's basic translations for conversation in the Post Office offered no help to him at all, so he rubbed his eyes and returned to the problem.  
  
"I'm leaving now, Sebastian."  
  
Seb smiled at the sound of his German professor's voice, always grateful for the way she reverted to his mother tongue when she was speaking only to him. It made him feel a little closer to home, to his family and the old friends he left behind.  
  
He still felt very lonely.  
  
"Thank you, Katja. I won't bee too much longer, I hope," he said replied with a small shrug.  
  
"You work too hard," Frau Steinhoff said sadly, placing her hand on Seb's shoulder as she made her way to the door. "Try to remember that you are a child only once."  
  
Seb gazed miserably at the textbook. "Thank you, Katja. I'll will."  
  
He listened to her heels as they clicked away down the dark corridor, taking a deep breath as he steeled himself for another assault on the equation.

  
****

  
Mark walked across the now empty car park, following a colleague's car tail lights with his eyes as they pulled away through the Academy's tall gates, and leaned on the back of his car to finish his cigarette. The car was a 1984 Porsche 911, and Mark had never once even entertained the idea of smoking whilst he was sat inside, because the car was his baby. It was the only real thing that mattered to him, aside from his job.  
  
It was growing dark, as Autumn was quickly creeping into winter, but the air was still pleasant as long as he stayed out of the breeze, he pulled a scarf from his bag as he heard the leaves in the nearby trees rustle, just in case.  
  
He was just about to climb into the driver's seat when he noticed a light on the second floor, with an open window – just to infuriate him further – and was half tempted to pretend he hadn't seen it, until common sense took over and, with a growl, he stomped up the steps and back into the school building.

  
****

  
Seb stared at his calculations and then back at the book.  
  
"If the sum of A is equal to the cube of B..." he whispered, eyes closing in panic as the numbers and letters began to hover above the page and rearrange themselves.  
  
"Oh, what's the fucking point?" he snapped, shoving the book over the edge of the desk and hearing it land with a thud on the thin carpet.  
  
"That's a very disrespectful way to treat school property, Sebastian."  
  
Seb froze at the sound, reaching robotically to the floor to retrieve the textbook. "Sorry, sir," he said sheepishly, refusing to turn around and face the professor whose voice he knew far too well.  
  
"What are you doing here so late?" Mark asked, strolling between the rows of desks until he reached Frau Steinhoff's oak table, where he leaned against the corner.  
  
Seb shrugged, still not meeting the older man's gaze, "You're the one saying that I should always try harder."  
  
Mark looked at the title of the book which Seb was now clutching to his chest and felt a sudden stab of remorse. The boy was studying to do better in  _his_  class, but why was he still in the building?  
  
"You can't study at home?" he asked.  
  
Seb nervously bit his lip and Mark felt overwhelmed by an urge to hug him.  
  
"It's difficult at home, sir," Seb said softly, "there isn't a great emphasis on education at my digs."  
  
"You mean the racing team?"  
  
The young German nodded.  
  
Mark blew out a long breath, recalling the first time anyone ever mentioned Seb's outside activities to him. To say that he was unimpressed was somewhat of an understatement, but then Mark never did have time for people who squandered their education in the pursuit of dreams.  
  
He had sat with the headmaster, after a spate of poor test results, telling him that the boy had no aptitude, no application. He had suggested that Seb should be made to repeat the year if he could not work out where his priorities lay.  
  
Twice Mark had thrown items of stationery at Seb's shoulders as he had slept slumped across his desk, without ever questioning why the boy had no energy for class.  
  
"Is there a lot involved, in the racing?"  
  
Seb nodded again, "I train a lot, every day, and I practise five days a week. Since I won the championship I'm moving up a class, so there is a lot to do. I have to be ready."  
  
Mark frowned, "If it's going so well, why do you need to be here, doing this?" he gestured at the room they were sitting in.  
  
"My father won't let me race if I fail," Seb said.  
  
The maths professor's eyebrows lifted.  
  
"Exactly," Seb muttered. "So getting permanent D's and E's in your class isn't going to help, and if I go home they'll make me train. So here I am. If it hadn't have been for Katja –,"  
  
"Frau Steinhoff," Mark corrected.  
  
Seb looked like he'd been kicked.  
  
Mark got to his feet, sensing that this was an appropriate time to begin the process of bridge building. "Why don't I take a look at that for you?"  
  
Seb turned his notepad towards the professor, wincing slightly as Mark inspected his work.  
  
"Always the same, Sebastian," Mark sighed, clicking his tongue as his eyes followed Seb's calculations. "You see this figure here?" he said, pointing at a number scrawled above a frustrated cloud of biro scribble, "this part is right, so how did you get to come by the final number?"  
  
Seb peered over Mark's forearm, "I think I cubed it?"  
  
"Whatever would you do that for?" he spluttered, "You only need to square it!"  
  
Mark felt the Seb's breath against his skin and pulled his arm back quickly. His proximity to him made him feel strangely uncomfortable, as though he had become a little lighter, with a flutter of nerves making him eye the boy cautiously.  
  
Seb squinted at the numbers, unconvinced.  
  
"Why don't you have another go?" Mark suggested, standing back with his arms folded over his chest and an expectant expression on his face. "Go on, Seb."  
  
Seb smiled, the professor had never called him by the shortened version of his name before, and his pen moved across the page quickly, using the new number as a base for his fresh calculations. He glanced up apprehensively.  
  
"What's the answer?"  
  
"Fourteen?" Seb replied, with no certainty whatsoever.  
  
Mark grinned broadly, "Absolutely correct! Well done, Seb!"  
  
Seb's lips stretched into a smile, but he took a quick glance down at the paper to check that the figure hadn't altered while his eyes where elsewhere.  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Really."  
  
Mark wondered if Sebastian was about to cry. His eyes had taken on a stunned, glassy quality which made him feel rather nervous. He'd never noticed Seb's eyes before, or perhaps never been close enough to notice, round and wide with a sparkle to the dirty blue irises which he wasn't sure had anything to do with the moisture which covered them.  
  
The skin on his cheeks looked as smooth as a newborn's.  
  
He looked a lot younger than seventeen.  
  
 _So fragile_.  
  
In his mind he reached out to stroke the skin with trembling fingers.  
  
"Sir?"  
  
Mark shook his head, erasing the daydream. "Would you like me to give you a ride home?"  
  
Seb looked at the textbook and then back up into the eyes of his professor. "I should probably finish this."  
  
With a tut, Mark picked the book and notepad up and pushed them into Seb's chest. "I think we've made enough breakthroughs for one evening, Vettel. If you're that eager to get this into your head I'm quite happy to sit with you at lunch tomorrow."  
  
Seb looked overjoyed, "Really? That would be fantastic, sir! Thank you!"  
  
Mark waited at the door while Seb filled his backpack, watched the top of his head as he passed, and switched off the light.

  
****

  
"This is a beautiful car, sir."  
  
Mark smiled at the compliment, despite the fact that it came from someone so young. "It's a classic, Sebastian."  
  
Seb peered around at the 911's interior while the light was still on, pouting his lips appreciatively. "Did you restore it?"  
  
"Not all of it, but I rebuilt the engine," Mark explained.  
  
"Did you use original parts?"  
  
"Of course," Mark said.  
  
Seb looked thrilled, "That's brilliant, sir,  _really_  brilliant!"  
  
Mark tried not to feel quite so flattered by Seb's praise, but he couldn't help his chest from swelling a little.  
  
Mark pulled his seatbelt across his chest, about to click into the buckle when his knuckles brushed Seb's fingers, executing the same action.  
  
"Sorry, sir," Seb said quickly, pale cheeks flushing wildly.  
  
Mark felt his own face burn, the awkward silence in the Porsche lasting for a beat too long. "Let's get you home, Seb," he said quickly, slipping the Porsche into gear and pulling out of the car park.

  
****

  
The next day Mark was quietly tucking into a cheese and pickle sandwich when there was a knock at the door.  
  
"Come in," he barked, irritated by whoever was interrupting his lunch break, "Sebastian!"  
  
Seb stood nervously in the doorway, the same textbook from the previous night tucked under his arm. "Sorry sir, is this a bad time?"  
  
Mark opened a drawer and dropped the sandwich into it. "It's a perfect time. Forgive me, I'd forgotten our arrangement."  
  
"I can go?"  
  
"No!" Mark all but shrieked, and Seb flinched at the volume of the professor's voice. "What I mean is - Now is fine, sit down."  
  
They worked through the chapter together, Seb writing his calculations down in small steps so Mark could assess at what point he was going off track, and eventually Seb was able to work the equations out, and give the correct answer, with no input from Mark at all.  
  
"Well done, Seb, again," Mark said, giving the boy a one armed squeeze of his skinny shoulders.  
  
Seb looked like the cat who'd got the cream, "It's mostly down to you, sir. Thank you very much!"  
  
Mark dismissed the words with a wave of his hand.  
  
Seb stood up and took two small steps forwards, "I wish there was a way that I could thank you, sir, properly."  
  
Mark watched as Seb wet his lips very definitely, and took an involuntary step backwards, the room had suddenly become quite unbearably warm and Mark was in danger of being hypnotised by Seb's eyelashes – why were they so close?  
  
"Really Seb," Mark mumbled, as Seb's two index fingers traced around the outline of his belt buckle, "it was no problem."  
  
Seb pushed Mark gently, but definitely, into the solid steel of the cabinet behind him, and dropped to his knees.  
  
"Sebastian, the door is unlocked," Mark hissed, and jerked his head at the door in case Seb had forgotten what one was.  
  
"No it isn't," Seb replied flatly, his quick hands making short work of Mark's fly so his suit trousers fell to his ankles with the sound of jangling keys from the pocket, "I locked it when I came in."  
  
Mark gazed down at Seb with an expression on incredulity. "You did what?"  
  
Seb laughed softly, and Mark could feel his warm breath through the loose cotton of his underwear.  
  
"This is wrong, Sebastian."  
  
"No it isn't. I was taught to remember my manners, sir."  
  
Mark wished that Seb would stop calling him sir, every time the words left his lips the pure perversion of the situation went straight to his cock, which was now gradually stiffening right in front of the boy's nose.  
  
"Do you like it when I call you that...  _sir_?"  
  
Mark stared at the opposite wall, at a vintage poster for the opening of the London Natural History Museum, and willed his cock not to react. He didn't want to be turned on by what was happening, as it would be the end of his career if anyone burst in on them, and he only had the boy's word that the door was locked.  
  
"Yes  _sir_ ," Seb purred, "you  _do_  like that."  
  
Seb's fingers curled around the elasticated waistband of Mark's boxers and pulled them down, releasing him. He made an appreciative noise and Mark almost felt his ego automatically inflate, before could he remember that Seb being impressed by the size of his cock was not something he wanted on his permanent record.  
  
"Seb... you have to stop."  
  
Seb's tongue slid up the shaft of Mark's cock as though he was licking a lollypop, and Mark's hands gripped the cabinet behind him like vices as a moan escaped him. The air of the basement thickened and for a moment all Mark could hear was a buzzing within his own ears. Seb's tongue lapped at him again, hot and wet against the oversensitive skin, trailing over the now swollen head and swirling mercilessly until it pulled another low groan out of the maths professor.  
  
Mark held onto the cabinet, fearful that, should his grip fail, his fingers would find themselves entwined with Seb's hair, helping the boy down onto his cock. His knuckles whitened as his will power slowly eroded. Seb's fingers danced across the skin of his balls, sending insistent pleasure pulses up to his brain which again argued that touching him was the right thing to do.  
  
Seb pulled away, rocking back slightly onto his heels. "Should I stop, sir?" he asked.  
  
The speechless professor stared down at his student. He knew the right answer, of course, but at this point he wasn't sure if his mind was working correctly, and was struggling to differentiate between that and what he actually wanted in that exact moment.  
  
"Don't you like it?" Seb asked, looking up at Mark from under his eyelashes.  
  
"I can't–," he began.  
  
Seb shook his head, "You can," he replied, wrapping his slim fingers around Mark's cock and giving it a light squeeze. "I owe you, sir."  
  
Mark whimpered, his head rocking backwards as Sebastian's light grip evolved into firm strokes. Every now and again he licked the tip, sending a spasm through Mark's body that made him crash backwards into the cabinet.  
  
When Seb replaced the hand with his mouth Mark's fingers wrenched themselves free from the steel and settled within in Seb's dirty blonde hair, following the rhythm of the boy's head as it dipped, but applying no pressure. He had lost contact with his professional control and replaced morals with an aching need to release himself into the back of Seb's throat.  
  
When the fingers in Seb's hair tightened around his skull, the boy on his knees chuckled, sending a vibration through Mark's groin that made him pant.  
  
"Oh God," Mark sighed, his hips now rocking gently against the wet friction of Seb's lips, the movement making the cabinet tap slightly against he tiled floor.  
  
Seb's fingernails dug into the skin of Mark's thighs, pain making his eyes widen as the orgasm started to build in the very pit of his stomach. Holding onto the boy's head, Mark pushed his hips forward, incapable of resisting the urge to fuck Seb's mouth as the unbearable need cut off every last connection he had with his senses.  
  
He came with a strangled curse, the muscles in his neck tightening as he fought the urge to shout, and his body contracting with violent aftershocks as Seb's tongue licked him clean.  
  
"You shouldn't have done that, Sebastian," he said softly, as Seb climbed to his feet and leaned against the desk.  
  
The boy shrugged, looking unrepentant as his professor pulled his trousers back to their proper place. "Think of it as a payment for your tutoring services."  
  
Mark looked exasperated, "You cannot exchange sexual favours for academic assistance!" he hissed.  
  
"Your cock thinks otherwise," Seb said, glancing down at Mark's crotch. "I should probably tell you, I had a look at the next few chapters of that text book, and I really, really  _suck_  at Pythagoras."  
  
"I don't see why that's relevant," Mark said, walking unsteadily to his chair and dropping into it with a thud.  
  
Seb grinned and bent over the desk to look the professor directly in the eye. "It's just I may need your help again."  
  
Mark shook his head, "No Seb, this isn't going to be repeated."  
  
The boy smiled, a cocky, sure-of-himself, kind of expression which made Mark's pulse quicken. "Of course it won't," Seb murmured, his hand creeping up Mark's thigh until it cupped him firmly, " _sir_."  
  
Mark groaned as his cock, which by right should have been exhausted, twitched expectantly.  
  
Seb chuckled, releasing his grip and collecting his belongings before finally reaching down to brush the dust from the knees of his black uniform trousers.  
  
"See you in class," he said, flicking the lock on the door and winking at Mark as he left.


End file.
